UXM: The Hunt
by Ryan Krupienski
Summary: Issue 23. The dust has settled from the conflict with the Friends of Humanity. New team members settle in, and the search for Cyclops and Omega Red begins!


**Summary:** Issue _#23_. The dust has settled from the conflict with the Friends of Humanity. New team members settle in, and the search for Cyclops and Omega Red begins!

**Notes:** Another one of those issues that I plotted but didn't script. This time my stand-in was my friend Ian Astheimer. Us group fanfic people are weird like that :)

**Cast:** Phoenix, Beast, Iceman, Archangel, Storm, Havok, Cecilia Reyes, Domino, Ever, Sunpyre, Sunfire, Erica Shen, Cameron Dalin, Omega Red

**Original Post Date:** January 2002

**Disclaimer:** The X-Men belong to Marvel Comics and are used in this story solely for non-profit entertainment purposes.

* * * * * 

  


"The Hunt"

  


* * * * *

There is a place on Earth where water does not move. An ocean is held steadfast in a sea of white.

It's cold.

Frigid.

Desolate.

Lonely.

But, Arkady Rossovich feels none of this. Even if his chalk white skin wasn't impervious to the artic chill that swept through the air, his mind would be focused on his mission and his mission alone. Everything else is simply an after thought. Nothing can stop him. No one can.

Long ago, the man was merely a tool of the Soviet Government. They called him a 'Super Soldier' and saw to it that every one of his numerous gifts were used to their fullest, with death often the result. As a member of Strikeforce, he truly became a ruthless killer. Anyone who stood in his way felt his wrath. And, that reputaton earned him the name Omega Red. Omega meaning the last; Red being the color of blood and Communism. He was the perfect specimine, the one true success of the entire program during the Cold War.

That was before the abduction, though.

Before the tampering.

Before the augmentation.

Before the power boost.

Before he lost all control.

Before Apocalypse.

Now, Rossovich wanders the tundras of his native Russia, a shell of his former self. He no longer remembers his last clear thought, and he can't recall a time when the carbonadium tentacles that stretch from the back of his hands didn't move of their own accord. The only images that flash through his tortured psyche are those of the innocent lives he took under the command of a mad man. And, it's killing him.

There is only one place left for him to venture.

Only one place that may be able to change things for the better.

Only one place that can make him human again.

The very place that made him the man he is today.

A Communist military base, deep in the heart of frost.

Where the Soviet Super Soldier Program began.

It's just a matter of getting there...

* * * * *

Jean Grey should be the happiest woman on the planet right now. After all, to the casual observer, she's got it all. She serves as the headmistress to a very successful boarding school, she's got a loving husband and a beautiful daughter, and her friends are always there when she needs them.

Of course, that's not taking into consideration the fact that her school is always under attack, her husband has gone missing, she rarely gets to spend any time with her daughter, and the only time she ever needs her friends any more is when there's serious trouble. But, no one ever said the life of a mother, much less one that serves as a superheroine, would be easy.

And, so, the woman known as Phoenix stands before the assemblage of acquaintances at the onset of another crisis. Her arms are crossed in an authoritative pose, and her hair is pulled up into a bun to reveal the stern expression that adorns her face and has become synonymous with her presence over the past few weeks. A single cough draws the attention of the seven X-Men that sit at the metallic table in the center of the War Room. With a long, smooth stroke, the leader of the X-Men straightens her gray turtle neck and rests her hands on the round table in front of her standing form before beginning.

"First, I would like to welcome back those of you who've returned from subbatical. It's safe to say the mansion hasn't been quite the same since you left." The words flow freely, which comes as no surprise, since the speech has been formulating in the psychic's mind for the past few hours, being reworked and refined.

"And, I would like to say it's good to be back," Bobby Drake chimes in with a grin and a chuckle. He need only see Jean's burgandy eyebrows shoot up, as her emerald eyes gaze down, before clamming up and sinking further into his leather-cushioned seat.

"As I was saying," Mrs. Summers continues, "a number of changes have come to pass in your collective absense. Recent recruits have decided to leave. New ones have decided to join the fold. Such has always been the nature of this institute, though, so these comings and goings should be unsurprising at best."

"And, speaking of the newest additions to our roster, the thought of expanding the school's reach has crossed my mind. The involvement of the Mutant Underground in our past few excursions has not only shown what prowess these men and women possess, but how much good the next generation of mutantkind is already doing. Under our guide, I'm sure they could achieve even greater things. To say the least, I've been inspired. Though while I would very much like to discuss the next step in the evolution of this school, I'm afraid there are far more pressing matters at hand."

Jean stops for a moment and turns her attention to a control panel on the wall behind her. By pressing a few buttons, a holographic relief map appears on the table before the freedom fighters, showing the aerial view of a very hazardous terrain.

"As you may or may not know by now, my husband has gone missing. Using Cerebro, I've managed to track him here." The hologram zooms in to the location in question, zig-zagging its way through cliffs, chasms, and pitfalls. "To the center of Eurasia. The journey is a perilous one, and Scott may already be injured. That's why I'll need you to accompany me, Cecilia. Immediate medical attention might be necessary, and your forcefield will certainly be an asset, as well."

"Count me in, then," the doctor replies, rubbing the blue-furred hand of Hank McCoy, who sits next to her and is totally captivated.

"Alex, your familial connection might be the only thing able to keep your brother grounded. The plasma discharges you emplore are an added bonus."

"I'm there," Havok states without hesitation.

"And, finally, as the person with the most expertise in both anger and depression, Warren, your pressence would be beneficial."

"I'll do what I can," an uneasy Archangel adds with an unsure smirk.

"Good, then, that's settled. In my absence, you'll be in charge, Hank. You know everyone here better than anyone, so the change in command, brief as it may be, should go smoothly."

"I'll try my best," Beast admits, his vibrant, yellow eyes focusing entirely on Jean's body. She offers him a nod before continuing.

"Ororo, Bobby, Kurt, I'll need you here for back-up. If anything does go awry while we're away, having you ready and on your way in a moment's notice will be reassuring. This should also give you enough time to get settled back in and refamiliarize yourself with the mansion."

"Our abilities are yours in the unlikely event you may need them, Jean," Storm assures.

"Very well. And, before anyone asks, I have tried to locate the Professor, as well, but to no avail. I will continue that search upon returning from this excursion." With the flick of her hand across the control panel, the hologram dissapates, leaving no trace of its existence. "Now, to the Blackbird."

* * * * *

Leyu Yoshida stands in the main hall of the Xavier Institute and simply stares at the walls. Picture after picture adorns their cream-colored surface, showing nearly every member of the X-Men to date, albeit in their civilian garb. It's said that a picture is worth a thousand words. If the words of those images were to be put to paper, there would be enough to fill forty years' worth of tales, she deduces fondly. Truth be told, the young Asian woman desires nothing more than to have her visage plastered on a wall, right next to that of...

"Shiro," she gasps, catching the appearance of her brother in the corner of her eye, as he approaches down the corridor.

"Good afternoon," the man in a black business suit greets with a warm smile.

"What-what're you doing here?" the younger Yoshida inquires. She wants to just relish in seeing her sibling for the first time in months, but there's a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that won't let that happen.

"I want you to return home with me, Leyu," the older replies frankly. He's never been one to beat around the proverbial bush, especially in matters of family, and now doesn't seem to be a good time to start.

"Shiro, I'm flattered, really, but why? I just got here, and I'm finally getting settled in. I feel like I belong somewhere for once." Her brown eyes meet his in a show of her sincerity.

"I can't remember the last time we've even spoken on the phone. So much has changed since then. There's so much to talk about, so much to tell." His stare is just as honest as hers.

"Then, start talking. You're here now. What's stopping you?" Her tone begins to harshen, despite herself.

"Telling you is only half of it. Some of it must be seen. I couldn't begin to describe to you half of what has gone on since you left. And, I don't feel I should have to." His words strike a chord in his sister, and, although they continue to simply stand and stare like members of the British Royal Guard, the eyes speak volumes.

"Well, then, I guess you'll have to send me pictures when you get back." Sarcasm drips in her voice like venom from the fangs of a snake.

"Japan is your home, Leyu. It's where you belong." The statement comes as more of a command than the factual truth it should be.

"No, Xavier's is my home now. It was once yours, too." Even though it was inevitable, Shiro had hoped Leyu wouldn't bring that up.

"And, I regretted every day I spent here, away from home, away from family, away from what was important." Sunfire seems assured of what he's saying, but that front is easily seen through by Sunpyre, who'd like nothing more than to laugh in her brother's face.

"We're different people, Shiro. What's important to you isn't necessarily imporant to me."

"We share far more in common than you would think, girl."

"Aside from our heritage, powers, and stubborness, what more is there?"

"I had thought _honor_ until today." His snide remark smacks her harder than any hand ever could.

"I can't believe you just said that!" Her hands clench in disbelief, and a steady stream of steam emits from them, as the air begins to heat.

"Then, don't. You are your own person, after all. You can choose to believe whatever it is you want."

"And, I believe you're acting like more of an asshole than usual."

"You mistake my concern for harshness. That's your problem, not mine."

Just as Leyu is about to strike her brother in fury, she stops to make sure she heard him correctly. "Your concern?"

"As if it wasn't obvious, I came here to bring you back to Japan because we miss you - _I_ miss you. Our family isn't the same without you there, Leyu," Sunfire finally admits and begins to cool down.

"Oh," Sunpyre realizes with a sigh. "I-I didn't know. I'm truly sorry for my reaction."

"Don't be. I should have been more forthcoming."

"But, all you did was make a request and a reasonable one at that. There was no reason for me to snap at you."

"And, the request still stands. Return home, won't you?"

"I'm sorry, Shiro, but I can't. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday. Right now, I need to concentrate on me, on what I want. And, I want nothing more than to prove myself as a hero, as your sister, as an X-Man."

"I respect that. The door will always be open should you come home," Mr. Yoshida states before straightening his jacket and heading back down the hall, leaving Ms. Yoshida to stare at her brother's class photo.

She raises a tentative hand and places it on the glass cover. "Goodbye..."

* * * * *

Just outside the door, a similar, albeit far less hostile, departure has begun. The two members of the Mutant Underground, who've dedicated their lives to protecting and aiding Homo sapiens and Homo superior alike as part of Xavier's larger plan, stand on the Professor's porch, cherishing the final few moments they'll spend together.

"So, this is it, then?" Cameron asks reluctantly to his ally. His hands are firmly stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes are more focused on the granite beneath his feet than the woman in front of him. For him, goodbyes have always been awkward, if only because he rarely knows what to say or how to say it.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Erica responds, gripping her black mesh bag a little tighter in her hands and shifting her shoulders under her backpack to get comfortable. "I'm heading back to the land of railroads, and you're sticking around here."

"Hey, it's nothing personal," the twenty-one year-old states, sensing the disdain in her voice.

"I know," the twenty-eight year old assures in all honesty.

"I just want to see how the other half of this operation works and maybe learn a thing or two while I'm at it, you know?" the Cuban kid continues to explain, for he feels he owes as much to the woman who recruited him to the Underground and changed his life forever. "This is a school, after all, and the teachers have more experience in the battlefield than you and I put together. They must know something about staying alive since they're, you know, still living."

"I can understand that fully, Cam. It's just... the MU won't be the same without you," the Korean woman, whose sister's death was the spark that drove her into Xavier's service, admits.

"I know. I didn't think it would be." He looks up and gives a weak smile, trying to lighten the somber mood. "But, if there's one thing that can be said for us Mutant Underground guys, it's that we're survivors. You'll do fine without me, Erica, I'm sure of it."

"I hope so. I really hope so." As she hears a car approaching, Erica peers over her shoulder and sees a taxi pull to a stop in front of the steps. "Well, this is me. See you?"

"I'll try not to be a stranger."

With a nod and a smile, the veteran heads into the car. Cam can only stand and watch with a sigh of regret.

* * * * *

They say that, in death, everything becomes clear. All life's mysteries unravel, and everything makes sense. No questions remain. There is only serenity.

But, what good does that do those who are left behind?

That very question lingers in the thoughts of the young man known as Ever, as he stands before the gravestone of a former ally, if not friend.

It reads:

**SARAH  
~A Friend & A Fighter~**

He smirks at the sight. She probably would have hated that epitaph. Marrow was never one for the softer emotions, not when he knew her, anyway. The only time she wasn't a complete bitch was when she was with Callisto, who was as close to a mother as most Morlocks ever got. Their bond was especially strong, though. No one was ever sure why. Some theorized Callisto really was her mother; others thought their love was far more... intimate than they let on. But, most of those mutants didn't care. They had more important things on their minds, like finding food and clothing and making it from day to day without being killed or eaten.

At the thought of his past in those dank sewers, the mutant made of mind matter laughs. The display doesn't last long, but it serves its purpose. A sigh is released afterwards. "You know, it's funny," the golden-skinned mutant speaks. "I never realized it before, but she was the only one of us who had a name. An upworlder name, I mean. A normal name. Not some random English word that one of our elders could remember, like 'Hemmingway' or 'Sack'. No, she got 'Sarah'. I guess they always knew she'd be special. That she'd find her way up here and make a name for herself, kicking some ass while she could. Wonder what that says about the rest of us..."

A woman with stark white skin, save for a black oval over one eye, walks out from behind a large oak. Her eyebrows arch. "How did you..."

"I'm a telepath, Domino," Ever states plainly, not needing to look up from the slate to know to whom he's talking. "I knew it was you as soon as you stepped out of the door ten minutes ago."

"Oh," is the only word that comes to mind - and mouth - in retort.

"Is there something I can do for you?" His voice, somber and steady, is so monotone that the lady of luck can't honestly tell if he actually cares or is being an asshole. Not wanting a spat, she assumes the former.

"No, I was just passing through, trying to get my bearings of this place." The mercenary approaches the Morlock and stops beside him, staring down at the engraving, as well. "Were you two close?"

"Once. We grew up together in a Darwinian dimension - survival of the fittiest, kill or be killed, and all of that crap. It was Hell, and Mikhail Rasputain was the Devil," Ever recalls, unwavering.

"Sounds like fun," Domino assesses with the roll of her black eyes.

"Not nearly as much fun as being a terrorist, though. Disgruntled youth in New York City - who would have thought, right?" He shakes his head. "If it weren't for Havok's influence when I joined his Brotherhood, I'd probably still be out there, killing just because it was the only thing I knew how to do."

"Don't worry about it, kid." She pats him on the upper back twice. "We all do some stupid shit in our lives. It's just par for the course. You're moving on - that's really the best thing you can do."

"Good to know." The ex-Gene Nationalist finally raises his head and looks into the former X-Forcer's eyes.

{Put the past behind you and leave it there.} Cable's old flame winks, before turning away and heading back to the mansion. She never even suspects that her thoughts are cascading into his mind.

"Sound advice," the man mumbles.

* * * * *

As a cold wind sweeps over the tundra, he pulls the hood of his white, fur-laced parka tighter around his face. His eyes never waver from the object of his search, his hunt. The beast, wandering through the dense, white wind, looks so serene. It's almost a shame he'll have to kill the thing... almost. A glove hand slowly raises to the ruby-lensed glasses on the man's face.

"Now or never..."

* * * * *

Continued in _#24_, "Sunset"


End file.
